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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704774">Cherry Lollipop</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodieyet'>notjodieyet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Although it's fewer than 20), 20 Questions, F/M, Fluff, Mentioned Thirteenth Doctor/Missy, Mentioned Thirteenth Doctor/River Song, Mentioned Thirteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 09:34:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodieyet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and the Master are temporarily stranded atop a mountain, and they play slightly antagonistic 20 questions. </p>
<p>Happy birthday to my dear Al!!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cherry Lollipop</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/allenabeille/gifts">allenabeille</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Doctor snapped her suspenders, took a long suck from her grape lollipop, and glared at the snag of wires in front of her. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This should have been easy. Something had wormed into her head and corrupting her train of thought, untangling the strings of her logical thinking until she was left with only loose threads of disjointed knowledge and memories. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sucked her lollipop again, slathering the sugary purple across her tongue, and slowly turned on her heels to stare directly at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master blinked innocently back and cocked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?” He swirled his own, still wrapped, cherry lollipop skillfully between two fingers. A pianist’s fingers; a magician’s fingers; a lockpick’s fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Noooooope,” the Doctor assured him, drawing the vowel far past its intended lifespan. (The Master winced.) “Nothing’s wrong. We’ll be out of here in no time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master scrunched his nose and tugged his colorfully striped sweater around his shoulders. It was wide and awkward and too long on his arms, and another lollipop was precariously hanging out of the left pocket. “Better be,” he grumbled, and stretched out across the couch like an irritated cat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a real helping hand around here, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master ripped the plastic off his lollipop with his fingernails to stick the entire sweet in his mouth. “Ah know,” he said around the lollipop, smirking, smacking his lips as loudly as possible. “Ya welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the open control panel in the wall of her living room. First things first: getting the engine working. If the TARDIS would just give her the right circuitry, this would be easy as hacking a government archive. Absolutely typical of her to act up exactly when the Doctor needed her most. Absolutely. Typical. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor sighed, running a fingertip over an exposed set of dials and switches and humming to herself under her breath. “Come on, love,” she muttered to the ship. “Come on…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> fixing it, right?” The Master took a large bite out of his lollipop, and the Doctor shuddered at the loud crunching sound. She itched to snatch it right out of his mouth and throw it off the mountain they were stranded on. “We’re not spending the night here, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We might.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master groaned and bit into his lollipop again. “Your TARDIS,” he said matter-of-factly, “Is a piece of shit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say one more thing about my TARDIS,” the Doctor warned. Her fingers curled around the rather heavy wrench currently in her possession, pointing it at him. “One more thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor hissed a breath through her teeth and set to work on finding the right wires hidden below all the junk that the TARDIS was shoving in her way. “God, you’re an ungrateful asshole sometimes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only sometimes?” Another crunch. “And here I was, hoping it was always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor bit her bottom lip, hoping the tiny flare of pain would stop her from turning around and giving the Master a good punch to the face. “You might want to shut up now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or what? You’ll drop me off in the middle of a desert? Can’t even do that with your piece-of-shit —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor turned. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“TARDIS,” finished the Master with a self-satisfied smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor let out a half stifled screech of rage and launched herself at him. Her wrench clattered to the floor. She barely heard it. She grabbed for some part of his shirt, her nails catching the skin of his neck as she fumbled to find the fabric, and seized the top of his sweater. The Doctor considered ripping his hair out, strand by strand, and she leaned forward to spit something horrifically malicious in the Master’s face —</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>— and found her mouth pressing against his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master squeaked and kissed her back. He tasted like a cherry lollipop. This Master kissed ruder than any of his predecessors, his hands tangling in her hair and tugging her down like their kiss was another opportunity for winning. The TARDIS had been cold before, no matter how much the Doctor had tried to ignore it—mountains were cold, after all, and the climate control was broken—and the Master’s body heat was welcoming, gentle, kind. All the things the Master wasn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(All the things she wished he was.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this meant to be a scolding?” the Master scoffed when she broke away for a breath. “I’ve never gotten a scolding with this much tongue before.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor opened her mouth to respond, and decided to use her energy to kiss him again. He seemed more than happy with the development. “I think,” she gasped, “We’re going to be here a while.” She kissed the tip of his nose, drawing a warm smile and the faintest hint of a laugh, and said, “I can’t hate my only companion for tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm,” said the Master. “I’m just too charming to stay mad at, you mean.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said the Doctor, hopping off his lap and opening the conveniently placed linen closet that had appeared somewhere between the Doctor first kissing the Master and this very moment. “Blanket?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor picked out a green, fluffy thing that could have been a large animal, once. “If we’re quiet for long enough, she might just fix the heating system herself,” she said, flinging herself back on the couch next to the Master and spreading the blanket across their legs. She found his hand under the blanket, lifted it to her lips, kissed his palm and up to his fingertips. “Twenty questions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is the best scolding you’ve ever given me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor rolled her eyes. “Twenty questions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where was this when I stole your last custard cream?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would you remind me?” The Doctor dropped his hand and rested her head against his shoulder. “Twenty questions. Take it or leave it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take it. But —”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“My God, it’s not a difficult game.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“I ask you a question you don’t want to answer, you kiss me.” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master grinned and wrapped his legs around the Doctor. It was a comfortable tightness. “Favorite ice-cream flavor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor’s hand found the Master’s. She interlaced their fingers, stroked his pointer finger with the pad of her thumb, listened to his breathing in the short moments of silence before she spoke. She could, very barely, feel his hearts pulsing blood through his hand, his heartbeats pattering that reliable one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four tempo, and she said, “Mint chocolate chip. Do you sleep in because you’re tired?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why else would I sleep in?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor shrugged. “You tell me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master hummed something to himself, something airy and light and not exactly this regeneration’s style. (The Doctor thought about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.) (The Doctor missed her.) “No,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled impishly. “Ask me next go-round. Did you ever trip over your idiotic scarf?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor’s cheeks flared with heat. “It was a good scarf.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” said the Master. “It was not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” said the Doctor, her mouth finding the warm, bare skin at his collar and absentmindedly roving across his collarbone. “Yes, I tripped over it. Once or twice.” She popped her lips before returning to the Master’s hot skin. “And you? Why do you stay in bed so late?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master mumbled something completely unintelligible, and the Doctor shoved her elbow into his side. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ow! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fuck! I just—I like —” He paused, as if considering his next words. “I like when you cuddle me when I wake up late, okay? It’s stupid. It’s sappy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor couldn’t help the mischievous smile that broke out across her face. “You’re an old softie,” she teased, and sat up. “Mind if I…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah,” said the Master, ducking his head. The Master didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>usually</span>
  </em>
  <span> duck his head. Missy hadn’t, Saxon hadn’t, Yana hadn’t—but </span>
  <em>
    <span>O</span>
  </em>
  <span> had, he’d ducked his head and grinned and fidgeted and blushed, and he’d been the Doctor’s type, and she had fallen for it like an idiot. All’s well that ends well, she supposed, as she examined the curve of his jaw and the shape of his eyebrows. The man she’d always loved and the man she thought she could have loved, in one neat package.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor shook off her crowded thoughts, and said only: “All right.” She clambered over his legs to perch atop his lap, cupping his jaw in her hands and grinning at the Master. The Master grinned back. “Your turn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My turn. Yeah. Yes. You smell like…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Citrus something, I think. My shampoo. It’s new.” The Doctor tapped his nose. “Is that your question?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Did you like the goatee?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor giggled. “Definitely not,” she said, petting the stubble of his chin with one finger. She wondered if having a constant like the Master was a curse or a blessing. Probably somewhere in between. (Wasn’t that what marriage was? Compromise?) “I like this, though. It’s scratchy.” The Master angled his face up for a kiss, and the Doctor turned her head. “Nope. I answered that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like this better than the goatee?” the Master said, sticking his bottom lip out in an adorable pout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry.” She wasn’t. “Favorite bit about Earth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have one,” said the Master. “Earth is awful and dull and the weather changes like—</span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He lifted a hand to snap his fingers beside the Doctor’s ear. She flinched and collapsed on his chest, laughing. “You’re jumpy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m waiting for the TARDIS to alert me that I can fix things.” The Master smelled like peaches. Missy’s perfume had smelled like peaches, and she had made certain to take it from her within the first month of her time in the Vault. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You could make a bomb out of that thing,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’d said, but in reality, she had simply hated the scent. Peaches and death and misery. Rather intense for something packaged as Summer’s Caress. “You’ve got to have a favorite bit, anyway. You’ve spent ages there.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“God, I don’t know. When you show up and make things interesting,” said the Master. “Why can’t I kiss you?”</span> <span><br/></span> <span>“You made the rules.” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck me, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor looked up at him and winked. “Finish the game, love. Do you like my cooking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master leaned down and planted a kiss on the Doctor’s lips, full and glorious, and she let herself melt into his touch. She’d daydreamed about this man kissing her exactly like this, with her in his lap and a blanket over them both, the rhythm of his breaths quickening against her chest. She’d fancied Agent O for more than a short while, after all. The Master knew what she liked, and he’d become it: boys with wide smiles, pretty eyes, whose first crush had been the stars and whatever lay beyond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In all her fantasies, the Doctor had never imagined this kiss as a way for the Master to cleverly insult her cooking skills. “You didn’t!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master smiled, sheepishly. “It just doesn’t taste right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It tastes fine!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You burned salad last night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor frowned, burying her face in the dark comfort of the Master’s shirt. He had stolen it from the guts of the costume room, and it was blue, with the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>FUCK BITCHES GET MONEY!!!’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>emblazoned across the front. She vaguely remembered telling Ace that it wasn’t appropriate attire for a wedding and Ace making a rude gesture in her general direction. “Shut up,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master stroked her hair. “I’m right, you know. River and Rose and I are all going to divorce you on the grounds of that salad alone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“River got the papers last Wednesday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor sat up, suddenly. “I thought you were having </span>
  <em>
    <span>brunch</span>
  </em>
  <span>! You bastard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the salad, darling,” said the Master, shaking his head in faux apology. “I’ll miss you ever so much after I officially become Jackie Tyler’s son-in-law. Do you think she’ll finally stop yelling at me for sitting on the refrigerator?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She still won’t let me take apart the toaster, so I’d say it’s a solidly low chance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s rough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master chuckled softly. “To be fair, you’re not very good at putting things</span>
  <em>
    <span> back together</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he pointed out. If his demeanor hadn’t been softened earlier, it softened now. The Doctor thought, in the cruel corners of her brain that were wired to despise her nemesis, that he would be terribly easy to destroy right now. “Do you—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor smirked. “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t… I mean, do you still… </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor blinked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master blinked back. “I didn’t mean to ask that,” he said quickly, shoving her away. The Doctor, tangled in their blanket, collapsed on the ground with a thud, shooting a dull pain up her spine. “Oh, God. Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What kind of a question is that?” said the Doctor, sitting up and rubbing her back as best as she could. Her muscles ached. She kicked the blanket away from her and scrambled to her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>point</span>
  </em>
  <span>, we’re stuck on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mountain</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to the rainforest.” The Master rolled off the couch and stalked to the door. “And possibly sleep until Wednesday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Tuesday night,” the Doctor managed to sputter through her incredulity. She hopped over the couch, with unnecessary drama, and grabbed the Master by his shoulders to kiss him. “That wasn’t a refusal to answer, by the way,” she gasped. “Of course I still love you. You’re an idiot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not your kindest love confession, by far,” said the Master, obviously trying to hide that wide, cheery, star-struck O grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where were you headed? The rainforest?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about back to the couch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Doctor twisted a strand of the Master’s silky-soft hair around her finger. (What conditioner did he use?) “My turn, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t that count as a question?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a question, too.” The Doctor found her hands slipping down to settle on the Master’s waist. It was O’s waist. It was a nice waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to kiss me now, aren’t you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The chance is very high, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Master kissed her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tasted like a cherry lollipop.</span>
</p>
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